The Very Best of Friends
by Stevie
Summary: A point-of-view fic, showing each scene from the eys of two characters. Jessie and Phaedra, completely different in every way, yet best friends. R&R!
1. Jessie I

Disclaimer: I do own Jessica and Phaedra. Yay, I actually own something! That's a nice change of pace. However, I'm not making any money off this and I don't pretend to own anything you recognize, so don't sue me.  
  
A/N- This is a POV, or Point-Of-View story, meaning each situation is written twice, once for both of the charecter's perspective. It floats in and out between their heads in each chapter, it's supposed to be a lot like reading their minds. The story starts off in Jessica's POV. Enjoy, and don't forget to R/R! Remember, reviews give me motivation! Yay!  
  
Ugh. Where is Phaedra now? It doesn't suprise me that she's late, she never really has been especially timely, but it didn't stop me from hoping she would pick this as the miraculous, once-in-a-lifetime day that she was punctual. But of course, she's later than ever. The train will be boarding in 3 minutes and she's still nowhere in sight.  
It's raining. It had been sunny and nearly warm outside of Kings Cross Station, but ofcourse it has to be pouring buckets here. Sometimes I wonder where exactly we go when we run through that platform. Apparently, someplace rather far away, because of the radical change in weather.  
As I stand here, getting soaked, checking my watch compulsively and waiting for my ever-late best friend, I start to think about the times we had when we were younger. Phaedra is pure-blooded, and while she says she doesn't care, I know she feels at least a little proud of it. I suppose that's why she said she actually had an argument with the Sorting Hat to keep herself out of Slytherin. She always has been stubborn.  
I'm muggle-born, with no magical relatives to speak of, and always thought magic was silly old men in capes pulling bunnies out of tophats. I'll never forget the first time I spent the night at her house. We were nine and having a time going through her mother's drawers, searching for hot pink lipstick for our dress-up game, when I came across her wand. Of course, being the fast-talker that she is, Phaedra promptly convinced me it was a rather odd looking back scratcher. Needless to say, we never went through Mrs. LaToure's things ever again.  
At our Primary School graduation, Phaedra came to me in tears, telling me that she wouldn't be seeing me again after that summer, she was going away to boarding school. I told her it would be ok, that we could still write each other, but she only cried harder. It wasn't until late July, when I got my letter, that she told me she was a witch. I still don't know how she of all people managed to keep a secret like that from me for the entire time we knew each other. Even I would have cracked, and Phaedra has an enormous mouth.  
As I stand here in the rain, taking a stroll down Memory Lane, I spot Phaedra. She's just ran through the barrier, dragging more trunks than any human being should need and clearly out of breath. On her way towards me she greets nearly a dozen people I don't recognize, all of them but one male. Some exchange weird hand gestures with her, some run over to hug her, others ask her about her schedeule or how her summer was. She stops a second year girl with brown hair and asks where the girl's brother is. I wonder how Phaedra can have so many male friends, and yet she never seems to have a 'boyfriend', per se.  
She inches her way towards me, smiling sheepishly and biting her bottem lip like she does when she knows she's done something wrong. I just watch her. I think she sees that I'm impatient with her. She opens her mouth and for a second I think she may apologize, but she only says "You're wet." I nod stupidly. What kind of a statement is that? She's completely dry. From the top of her head to the bottem of her muggle flip-flops, she doesn't look like she's ever seen a drop of water. A sharp contrast to me, I'm sure.  
Phaedra and I are so different, physically as well as mentally. While she's blonde, green-eyed, and rather curvy with a chest easily twice the size of mine, I'm a brown-eyed brunette with an athletic (while not very feminine) body type and freckles. She's always late, I'm so meticulously on- time you could set your watch by me. She's spontanious and artistic, I couldn't draw my way out of a paper bag. She's so full of useless trivia I can hardly believe she has room for anything else, but lacks common sense completely. I'm the opposite. I don't know much, but I do have 'street smarts.' When we were younger I was on every muggle sports team I could find, but the closet thing to sports Phaedia ever got to was occasionally bowling with me. I always tease her about her lack of athletic ability, but I don't think she minds. She's harder on herself than I am.  
Phaedra stands in front of me, gnawing on her lip and staring. "So...are we going to get on the train or what?" She asks impatiently, as if it had been her that was waiting for me. I snort and for a second I can't believe how rude she is sometimes, but I can't help but laugh. She drags her trunks (all five of them!) over to where the baggage is being loaded, and the two of us find an empty car somewhere near the back of the train. 


	2. Phaedra I

Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. She owns everything. She owns me. She owns you. believe it. A/N- This chapter of the story is from Phaedra's point of view. You'll see that both girls are hard on themselves and idolize eachother. Uhhh....yeah.  
  
I woke up this morning exactly fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave for Hogwarts. Lovely. Fabulous. How utterly terrific.  
I stumbled into my mother's room and found her, not suprisingly, in a comatose state and making honking noises that caused me to seriously consider phoning for an ambulance. After making my way through the maze of junk scattered across the floor (I suppose I get my disorganized nature from mommy dearest) I shook her violantly, trying desperatly to wake her. Her eyes opened slowly and she gazed groggily into my frowning face. She said something along the lines of "Whatieemissit?"  
"It's 7:45!" I hissed. "Why are you still asleep? Didn't you set some kind of alarm? My God, mother, I could have missed the train! But that's what you want, isn't it?!"  
She rolled over and burried her head in her pillow. "Uuuuugh, Phaedra. Can't you apparate to the station...?"  
I sunk down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin upon my knees. "Yes, that'll look natural, eh? Let's just have a great load of wizards appearing out of nowhere in a muggle train station! Brilliant, Mum!" I took a breath. "Besides, I don't even know how yet. Honestly, I've told you that atleast eighteen times this week."  
I glanced up at her clock. Five minutes wasted already. "Look, just get ready, ok? We have ten minutes." With that, I trudged down the hall to my bedroom.  
I flipped my head upside down and seized a hairbrush off my vanity, pulling it roughly through my choppily layered blonde hair. Upon seeing my reflection, I decided that it was satisfactory and dressed myself in a pair of too-big blue jeans and a T-shirt I'd bought in a muggle store.  
My mum was already waiting for me by the kitchen table when I came out from my room a few minutes later, dragging my trunks. She looked a fright. Obviously she'd try to magically apply a bit of make-up, and done quite a poor job. She watched me with this strange glint in her eyes. I realized she was crying. She sauntered over and put her cold hand on my cheek, kissing my forehead lightly. I noticed she had to crane her neck upwards. "You're growing up so fast.." she whispered, nuzzling her head up next to mine. I put my hand awkwardly on the side of her head.  
"Mum....we're going to be late." I took a deep breath, trying not to make it worse. "Jessie's waiting..." She nodded, swallowing her tears and grabbing three of my trunks.  
The two of us piled into our beige Stationwagon, throwing my luggage haphazardly into the back seat. I fiddled with the radio dial until something tolerable came through the speakers. Resting my chin on the palm of my hand, I stared absent-mindedly out the window, determined to avoid any conversations that could lead my mother to cry. Which at this moment, I imagined, would be any at all.  
Within twenty minutes we arrived at the station. While my mother retrieved my trunks from the back seat I cast a rather good water-repelling charm on myself and swung my legs out the door. It was a beautiful day in London, but dad had warned me the evening before that there was to be rain at the platform this morning. I smiled to myself, thinking smug thoughts about how clever I am.  
I suddenly realized how late I was. Jessie. Oh damn. Double, triple damn. Hell hath no fury like an angry Jessica. I collected my things from mother and kissed her goodbye breezily. "I love you!" I called out, sprinting towards the train station. I didn't look back to see her crying, but I knew she was.  
I was out of breath by the time I'd reached the enterence to the station. Why couldn't I be fast like Jessie? Trying desperatly not to bump into too many muggles, I drug my five pieces of luggage behind me, dashing wildly towards the wall between platforms nine and ten. I didn't even bother to make sure no muggles were looking when I took off towards the platform.  
Once I arrived safely through the platform and saw I hadn't missed the train, I slowed down. It was raining something fierce. What looked like endless buckets of water were pouring down from everywhere. Several boys ambled over to greet me, half smiling and pretending like they really couldn't care less, the way boys have a tendency to do. I love my male friends to death, honestly I do, but sometimes I'm sure I'd gladly trade all my boy friends for just one boyfriend. I'm always 'friendly Phaedra.' 'Sharp-tongued, witty Phaedra.' Silly Phaedra who makes everyone laugh but no one ever considers dating.'  
On the other hand, the boys looking for romance flock to Jessie. Jessie, in fact, is gorgeous. She has amazing naturally wavy nearly-black hair and never fails to make a boy blush. You'd think a little of that magic would rub off on me, but no. I'm still Phaedra, everyone's buddy.  
From across the platform I spot Emmeline, Quinten's second year sister. Quinten and I have been super close for as long as I can remember. Next to Jessie, he's my very best friend. I wander over to Emmeline. "'Lo, Emmie. Where's your brother?" I ask, not bothering to hide my enthusiasm for seeing him again.  
She frowns at me. "Durmstrang." She says flatly. I gape at her.  
"'Scuse me?"  
"Durmstrang." She repeats, slower this time as if she was speaking to someone quite dense. "He moved. Went to live with our father."  
It's common knowledge that Quinten's parents are divored, and it's no secret that Quinten hates his step-father. Honestly, though, I would have thought he would have told me. I feel my lips pursing together like they have a tenency to do when I drift away in my own mind. I really don't see how Quinten will ever survive at Durmstrang. A smirk tugs at the corners of my cheeks as I imagine, in vivid detail, Quinten being chased down the dimly lit corridors by hoards of large, hairy boys. And girls, I add as an afterthought.  
"Thanks..." I mutter. Emmeline nods and goes back to jabbering with a group of girls her age.  
From across the platform I can see Jessica, soaking wet and glaring daggers at me. Oh, damn. I forgot about Jessie. Feeling as though my feet weighed about as much as twelve elephants, I trudge over to where she stands, dripping and obviously unhappy with me.Unable to think of anything intelligent to say, I resort to stating the obvious. 'Captain Obvious', that's what they used to call me.  
"You're wet."  
Jessie's look softens from rage to puzzlement, and she nods at me. Her doey brown eyes scan me up and down. I fidget. I hate to be stared at, sized up.  
"So...are we going to get on the train or what?" I offer briskly, hoping to put a stop to the 'inspection.' She laughs at me. Ah, there's the old Jessie. The one who puts up with me. I like that Jessie.  
She hoists her muggle-style bag up on to her shouldar and I get ahold of my thirty-seven bazillion trunks the best I can and we make our way (well, she does. I sort of waddle, hunched over and trying desperatly to hang on to my baggage.) over to the train. I pray silently Jessica isn't too angry, because it'd sure be a long year without her. 


End file.
